My Punishment
by Piraticaly-Insane
Summary: Hermione's torture from Draco's point of view. His painful conflict and hatred of his situation are slowly tearing him apart. One-shot.


**Hello! This is just a one-shot of Draco's point of view during the Malfoy Manor chapter of Deathly Hallows. We all have our own interpretation and this is my own, serverely conflicted one. Read and review!**

**Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters.**

**My Punishment**

When they drag them in I'm not sure what I feel. Sure, I feel like someone has just punched me in the stomach but what is that exactly? It's not joy, no, but it's not sadness. Surprise perhaps? Dread? I'm so stunned they've been captured, I can barely form a glare.

Do I want to?

Potter's face is swollen and ugly, the perfect time to laugh at him. But I can't. What is wrong with me? Stupid Potty is getting what he deserves! His foul scar started all of this! I might not even be here if he had just died like he was supposed to, my family might be safe. Stupid Potter. Weasley too. Blood traitor fool - he deserves this. And the mud blood, well, that speaks for itself.

"Draco, come here."

What?

Why does my mother need me? I used to wish to be needed. Now I dread my name being called. I stand and move towards my tied up classmates. Am I shaking? Father is watching, I must remain cool, in control. He's counting on me. I wish he weren't. As I approach the swollen faced boy, I'm certain it's Potter. He has that posture, that idiotic Gryffindor posture - so straight and sure. Why is he so dim-witted as to not show fear? He should be afraid.

"Well, Draco?" My father's avid, demanding voice, "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

He'll die if I say yes. They all will. I've waited for this day, the day where I hold Harry Potter's life in my hands and he won't even look at me. Look at me, Potter! I could kill him, right now and feel nothing.

I can't.

Weakness! Why am I so weak? Father asks this of me all the time, but he tortures, he kills! I have tried, but it disgusts me to see a wizard beg. To see him throw his dignity away like a weak willed Muggle. Why do my father and his comrades enjoy such a low-brow display? I know that I should, but I can't.

"I can't - I can't be sure." I reply. Damn that quake in my voice. I turn my gaze from Potter's pink and distorted face in disgust. He can't look at me. I can't look at myself anymore. My father and Greyback are arguing. Why is that repellent werewolf in my home? I don't want it near my family. Half-bred brute.

"Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

Bending down with my father's flushed, excited face I glance quickly at Potter's forehead. I see the scar for a fraction of a second, stretched tight, but I can't look. This scar that has brought about my family's problems again.

This scar that could save us.

"I don't know."

I walk towards my mother and face the burning flames in the fireplace. The warmth does not quite reach me. I hate Potter, but I hate Voldemort more. He belittles my father and my family name. Malfoy's do not bow down to one man!

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

I can see her plain as day in the flickering light of the fire. Granger. Mudblood. I hold her life too, but for Merlin's sake I don't want it! Why do mother and father do this? Granger looks pale, ill even. She's a filthy mud blood - but I can't kill her. I am not a murderer, Dumbledore knew that, old fool that he was.

I jump as the door bursts open, crashing back on itself. Aunt Bellatrix. I feel a lump of fear rise in my throat, but not for myself - for Potter and his friends. I see her eyes lock on Granger and I close my eyes, lowering my head so I do not have to see the malicious hunger.

Granger doesn't stand a chance.

They're all shouting again. I miss the solitude of my Hogwarts dorm, I could shut the curtains around my bed and pretend for just one second that I belonged to a normal wizarding family. That I was not predisposed to doing the bidding of The Dark Lord.

Why is this bloody sword so important? My Aunt Bella looks mad, the whites of her eyes more visible than ever and her teeth tight together in a gritted line.

I see Potter and Weasley shake with anger and fear as Granger is cut away from the group at the hands of my psychotic aunt. My stomach drops as I realise what I am about to witness - I do not have the stomach for torture. But this is Granger, know-it-all Granger. I should be able to make an exception. I tortured her in my own way throughout school and relished every second of putting her in her rightful place.

But then she screams. I never made her do that.

That scream! Shut up, Mudblood! The sound travels through my ears, shredding through my organs until it has spread down to my feet, filling me with its awful pain. I see her flailing limbs, stabbed my invisible knives, reflected in my aunt's shining eyes. She's never looked like she has enjoyed herself more. I feel my stomach bubble as I watch her relish the awful shrieks of my classmate, am I going to be sick?

I always thought the know-it-all deserved the cruciatus curse, but she's not such a know-it-all anymore, is she? She doesn't seem to know anything but pain. I watch her face, pink, twisted and streaked with tears, the only sign she's being hurt, and I feel disgust. Not at her, for my situation. Why am I here?

She's strong, and as I watch Hermione Granger be tortured I recall her at school. Bucktooth, bushy haired, annoying and brilliant. A Mudblood shouldn't have that kind of magical ability, I always thought. I don't care now. I see her scrunched up face, the blood rushing to her cheeks, the blood no different to my own and I realise it's nothing. She feels pain, loss, fear, just as I do. We're all in this war.

Another scream, a broken sob and Hermione Granger's gasped, desperate words break my reverie.

I am glad when my father sends me to fetch the goblin. I can't listen to her piercing shrieks any more. I feel them, liquid sound, dripping in steady drops onto my already saturated conscience. Please shut up, Granger, please. I hate you! But I pity you.

I run down to the dungeons, tripping over my own feet in the dark, hurrying to do as my father asked. I hear Potter and Weasley crashing around in the dungeons. Idiots. How could they think they'd ever get out? What if they're planning something? Would I dare to help?

No.

I steel myself and march towards the cell door. I am a Malfoy, I have a job, emotions are useless. My father taught me that. But I don't want my eyes to be dead like his. The eyes of a man who has seen and done too much to forgive even himself.

Grabbing the goblin, I glance at Potter and Weasley. Their pale faces are illuminated by my wand, scarred by worry and fear. It looks like we all feel the same. Events are moving too fast for us to control now, Potter. And I blame you.

When I return Granger lies in a heap at my aunt's feet. I can't help her now. It's so odd to see the girl that punched me in a fit of rage lie so despondently. I never wanted to see her die so weakly, like a useless flobberworm.

"It is a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes."

As the relief breaks out over my aunt's face, I feel it fill the cracks in my soul. I won't have to watch another die.

"And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want."

You sick, evil woman. I feel nauseous as I watch the werewolf move forward to Granger with a predatory glint in his eye. I can't let this-

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Never did I think I'd be glad to see Weasley burst into a room in that ungainly way. I won't resist.

I want them to win, I want this to end. And as the glass of the chandelier slices at my face, ripping, tearing, I feel redemption, I feel free - my punishment has begun. I welcome it.

**Hope you enjoyed. Review please!**

**Emma x**


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